Borrow. Sheppard now directed her steps. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. And let us go on with our evening. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. You two can talk in Lucy and Shar’s room for a few minutes. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. She parted the curtains to find him standing there. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister.
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